The gravediggers barrow is deep
His workload full.
Crimson sweet
His lonely soul,
Late night calls
Dead man's duty.
Nature's fife plays low
Skies darken
Crocus brighten
The morning.
Yet his heart is but a Wandering casket
An empty plain Pine Box.
He lifts the arthritic figure into the casket.
The work is done.
A lifestyle blog about the life of a young journalist and barista: homemade pastries, creative writing, and romance. Coffee tales sprinkled with cinnamon and the spices of life!
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